


the long nights surround us

by falsealarm



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23180425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsealarm/pseuds/falsealarm
Summary: One of the first things that Zari learns about the Waverider is that when you’re parked in the Time Stream the concept of time, and subsequently all schedules you thought you had built for it, go right out the window.[Post ep 5.06, a late night on the Waverider with Zari and Charlie]
Relationships: Charlie/Zari Tomaz | Zari Tarazi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 134





	1. the long nights surround us

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, my brain has decided it would be cool to write a thing so please enjoy this little nugget, I quite like it a lot so hopefully you will too. This may become a little series if my brain feels so inclined but we'll see, no promises. Thanks to my #1 fan and best pal [pirateygoodness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirateygoodness/works) for being supportive as always. Un-beta'd because I need to post things ASAP to make sure they go up.

One of the first things that Zari learns about the Waverider is that when you’re parked in the _Time Stream_ the concept of time, and subsequently all schedules you thought you had built for it, go right out the window.

The second thing she learns is that there’s only one bathroom.

Which really—since her internal clock is nowhere near synced with the rest of the crew—doesn’t actually matter much. Plus, Gidget has some sort of like ultrasonic, ultraviolet, super future cleaning process that pairs quite nicely with Ava’s obsessive cleaning so mostly it’s the time thing that Zari’s having a problem with.

The Waverider’s internal clock reads 3:07 AM, blue lights glaring and burning into Zari’s bleary eyes. She has slept tonight but when she woke up her body had only acknowledged the 2 hours of sleep as a nice long nap rather than the start of a good night’s sleep.

The room she’s taken is small but the bed is comfortable despite its super-futuristic appearance so her body shouldn’t have any trouble falling back asleep and yet, sinking into the mattress feels almost as if she’s being swallowed rather than cradled. Like the mattress is trying to hold her captive while sleep escapes her, a kind of infuriating torture rather than the comforting embrace that form-fitting mattresses are meant to provide.

Zari groans as she finally pushes herself upright, hands sinking into the hungry mattress before they can free her from her blankets. She slips on the flower-patterned satin robe she brought from home—the one that feels best on her skin right after she moisturizes—and slides into fleece-lined slippers before engaging the weird automatic door of her room.

The Waverider is quiet this time of night save the warm hum of ship systems and the unmistakable sound of Mick’s typewriter clacking away. For a moment, Zari considers bugging him. He’s technically not Rebecca Silver anymore but that hasn’t stopped him from writing and she wonders if he’s changed genres in his “retirement”. It might be too late to interrupt though, for all Zari knows he just woke up in a fit of inspiration and might not want to be disturbed. Zari has also been warned by several members of the crew that Mick sleeps naked and while that’s not entirely a deterrent, his gruff demeanor feels a little too intense for the mood she’s in. Maybe next time.

An empty kitchen greets her, blue-white backlit cabinets casting eerie shadows before the motion sensor catches her, kicking on to a light level a shade too bright for Zari’s tired eyes.

“Gidget, turn the lights down.”

“Gideon.” The AI corrects as the lights dim to something more appropriate.

“Thank you, Gideon,” Zari corrects herself. If she were more awake she might have fought back a little, tried to come up with a catchy nickname for the AI but the only thing truly on her mind is tea and tea only.

She’s been told—and shown several times by her ravenous brother—that Gideon can make just about anything with her future food technology or whatever but Zari has always found the act of making her own tea to be quite relaxing. Fortunately, the crew feels much the same so the well-used kettle is filled with clean water and set to heat up as Zari finds herself a suitable mug.

The variety is alarming for such a small kitchen. There are a few metallic ones to the side—Zari assumes those came with the ship, they’ve got the same kind of sterile nature but the rest have _character_. Zari pushes aside “World’s Best Grandpa” and Ava’s Winchester Mystery House mug and reaches for a handmade one at the back. It’s one of a pair with a diluted blue-black glaze and some weird marbling that Zari’s gotten lost in a few times. The kettle begins to whistle gently as Zari peruses the tea selection. Ray has taken it upon himself to make his own blends, each of them named and labelled with uses and suggested steeping times for “the perfect cup”. Zari pulls down the jar of “sleepytime” just as Charlie skulks into the kitchen, her head snapping up in surprise as Zari clicks the cabinet closed.

“Oh, hey,” Charlie’s voice is soft, not much louder than the hiss of the kettle. “Sleepytime?” She asks, eyeing the container in Zari’s hand.

“You want some?” Zari offers.

“Yeah, if that’s alright.”

Charlie gets the first mug that Zari sees when she opens the cabinet again and Charlie smiles when she catches sight of the image. Zari angles her head for a peek; it’s the mug that Behrad usually gives to Nate: _you’ve got a pizza my heart_. Zari feels her cheeks flush a little, tries to pretend like she hasn’t seen what it is as she grabs two infusers and carefully spoons in the loose tea blend. Infusers are set into mugs and the mugs filled with hot water in a silence that Zari supposes would be comfortable without the mug’s suggestion but instead feels rather charged.

Still silently, the two of them take a seat at the table and as Charlie takes her mug she spins the design out to face Zari. Zari ignores it outright, focuses on her own tea for a few moments before deciding to break the silence.

“Up late causing mayhem or?” Zari starts, wiping errant water from the rim of her mug. Charlie’s still fully dressed: fishnets and studs and plaid, which shouldn’t look as good as it does on her. Zari never really got into the punk thing but there’s no doubt that it _works_ for Charlie. She knows it too which Zari thinks is why it _works_ for her as well.

“Several pieces of clothing did get ripped,” Charlie says with a cheeky smile, making eye contact in the way she does when she says something a little frisky. “But it’s back together,” she finishes, pointing to the top she’s wearing. Zari lets the eye contact linger for a moment more before following Charlie’s hand. The shirt _is_ new now that Zari takes a better look at it—it’s similar, of course, to the rest of her looks but this shirt’s been cropped quite high and the neck cut out entirely. The new neckline veers sharply to the right and where it dips further into the chest it’s been safety pinned back together, the open space between the fabric showing skin and the telltale pattern of Charlie’s fishnet shirt beneath.

“I like it,” Zari says, still eyeing the slant of Charlie’s collarbone as she continues, “a little subdued for you I think.”

“It’s only a first run, there might be less of it tomorrow,” Charlie answers.

When Zari looks up Charlie’s looking very plainly at her mouth and Zari smiles as a little rush of something tickles low in her belly. “I don’t mind it how it is, it looks good on you,” Zari starts, eyes down to her tea to check the color—not ready yet. “If you do update, I’d love to see what you land on.”

“You’ll get the exclusive first look,” Charlie teases, her own eyes dropping to her mug to check. Not done for her yet either it seems.

They lapse into silence again, eyes to their mugs watching the steam rise and color darken. Zari takes her infuser out first a few minutes later, her tea a comforting amber as she moves back to the counter to grab the honey. She looks to Charlie with a silent question and Charlie smiles, nods in acceptance of the honey as well. It’s local wildflower honey ...from somewhere in Pennsylvania, according to the label. As Zari spoons a hearty dollop into her tea she wonders quietly what it was that led the Legends to Amish country—wonders also how the Amish might react to Charlie. A chuckle slips loose as her mind spins the image of Charlie skillfully milking a cow in a successful attempt to woo both the milkmaid and her stable hand brother, their father looking on in absolute rage.

“What’s that, princess?” Charlie inquires, curiosity plain on her face, eager to know what it is Zari’s thinking. If she were a little more awake she might slide the idea over to Charlie but it’s too late, Zari’s not up for flirting _that_ active.

So instead, Zari stirs in her honey, looks up at Charlie with a soft smile. “Have you ever had any run-ins with the Amish?” Zari asks simply, taking the first sip of her tea. Warmth spreads across her tongue and down her throat. Placebos kick in ahead of the herbs, a rolling sense of relaxation sliding down her throat and adding another layer of warmth to her belly as she takes another sip.

“Not recently, no,” Charlie admits, curiosity lingering as she pulls her own infuser out and reaches for the honey. “Have you?”

“No, I don’t think they’d like me.”

Charlie smiles, “I don’t think they’d like me either.”

Zari watches as Charlie stirs in her own honey, following the gentle movement of her hand and the mesmerizing swirl of her tea. Her own mug is warm between her hands, the heat of it soothing in a way that has already shifted the idea of sleep back to the forefront of her mind. Charlie speaks again as she lifts her mug for another sip:

“I lived with some Buddhist monks for a while though.”

Zari pauses, narrows her eyes at Charlie over her mug. This feels like it could be the start of a joke but there’s something about the way Charlie says it, like she’s simply speaking a thought aloud, that has Zari genuinely curious. “Did _they_ like you?”

“I was between benders,” Charlie admits, sipping her tea thoughtfully. She closes her eyes as she swallows, like the tea itself is part of the memory. “Best place for a little peace and quiet is a monastery. Strict schedule, early wake up calls, but every morning we’d all sit together at breakfast and drink a cup of tea as we watched the sunrise.”

The tension in Charlie’s shoulders has visibly diminished since her last sip and the line of her jaw seems a little softer too. Zari hasn’t been on the ship long enough to decide if this is something that Charlie does regularly but her body language seems much more open, this admission feels rather intimate. She wonders if this is something Behrad knows already, it seems right up his alley. Quietly, Zari asks, “when did you leave?”

“Over a century ago,” Charlie admits plainly, “maybe a century and a half. I’ve never been very good at keeping track of time.”

 _So maybe this isn’t something Behrad knows_ , Zari thinks to herself, remembering then that it was only a few days ago that the team learned how old Charlie truly was.

“You didn’t look like _this_ , did you?” Zari vaguely gestures to Charlie as whole. Earrings and midriffs and short skirts and well, actually, she’s not entirely sure how long Charlie’s been in the body she’s in now. Behrad mentioned something about a woman named Amaya that was on the ship for a while—another totem bearer that helped him work with the wind totem—but he said she’d left before Charlie had joined them. That’s part of the story she should look into, at least to figure out if Amaya’s as hot as she sounds.

Charlie leans forward, elbows on the table as she cradles her mug in both hands and smiles over the rim. Playful and more than a little flirtatious, “I don’t think those boys would have wanted a woman like this in their midst, a little too distracting.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Zari answers, a tickle of warmth thrumming in her belly as Charlie’s smile ticks up at a corner. There’s something comforting in the way Charlie flirts with her: always casual, an open offer up in the air for Zari to catch if she feels like it. Zari isn’t fully suited to catch tonight but she has no problem volleying a little.

“But you aren’t a monk, are you?” Charlie’s eyes flick down to Zari’s lips again for a steady couple seconds before finding her eyes again. “I was 12, or maybe 8, I can never tell how old kids are when I look at them but he was in the village on the way to the monastery so I borrowed a bit of him for a couple months.”

Zari takes another sip of her tea and studies Charlie’s face. There’s a calm in her eyes that Zari doesn’t think she’s seen before. Every ounce of the Charlie she’s met so far oozes rebellion and sex and chaos but the Charlie in front of her is still and quiet. This Charlie she can easily picture sitting quietly with a cup of tea, taking a moment to appreciate the morning. “Did it help? The peace and quiet?”

“For a while,” Charlie says wistfully, “but I can’t sit still for very long.”

And just like that, as if a spell had been broken, Charlie’s body language shifts entirely. Zari thinks she recognizes something in the posture but before she can prod Charlie’s up from the table. She downs her tea in one long gulp and Zari watches the line of her throat as she swallows, notes the tension returning to her shoulders and the way her jaw sets again as her mug finds the table. “Duty calls,” she says, taking a few steps backwards towards the door.

Zari knows better than to question what that duty is. Charlie’s set on leaving and the only answer Zari will get out of her now will be a lie so she just nods. “Sweet dreams.”

Charlie gives her one last cat-like smile, “bet you’ll dream of me.”

“If you’re lucky.”

“If _you’re_ lucky, princess,” Charlie replies before a quick wink ushers her out of sight.

Zari feels that warmth in her belly again but it’s calmer, soothing more than exciting. Sleep is tugging at her limbs and her eyelids seem much heavier than they were just ten minutes ago. She wonders what version of Charlie will grace her dreams. That Amish flight of fancy will probably shine through but sunrise tea with a little monk sounds kind of perfect.


	2. when there's fire in your belly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Zari, John needs to sleep.”
> 
> “Need doesn’t mean deserve,” Zari spits, nails digging into her palms.
> 
> [an insert scene btwn 5.09 and 5.10, spoilers for 5.09]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My new writing process goes like this: 1) have an idea, 2) wait a few days to see if it goes away and if it doesn't slam it all out in one day, 3) edit it briefly and badly, 4) post it and never think abt it again. Last week's ep truly fucked me up and my brain wanted a little in-between before this ep got going so this happened.

“Zari, John needs to sleep.”

“Need doesn’t mean  _ deserve _ ,” Zari spits, nails digging into her palms. She isn’t running away, Sara’s just following very closely, very  _ annoyingly _ , at her heels. Just because she says she’s in charge doesn’t mean Zari has to listen to her.

“Zari,  _ you _ need sleep,” Ava says a few steps behind.

The way Ava says her name now stings. It’s half-caught in her throat, sorrow tugging at it in an attempt to add weight but it sounds desperate every time and Zari sees that desperation in Ava’s eyes when she stops in place, turning to take a stand. Ava isn’t a hugger but every time they lock eyes it looks like Ava wants to bundle her up and that softness is not what Zari needs right now. If Ava wants to be Zari’s captain she needs to be sharp, ready to act as soon as they pinpoint the last piece of the Loom. No hugging, no sad eyes, just action.

“I need  _ coffee _ ,” Zari corrects. Once she’s properly caffeinated again she can get back to the library and resume her guard duty. John says the third piece will be theirs soon. Charlie spent most of the day with them, feeding them info on the Loom, on her sisters. They have a location in time and space but there’s something weird about this one. Some sort of corruption has taken hold at the location and Zari and Charlie want to know what they have waiting for them. John wants to barge in, deal with it as he sees it, but Zari wants a plan of attack. Charlie told them about the zombies, they are not going in unprepared.

Before Zari can turn away there’s a hand on her wrist, holding just tight enough to still her in place. Zari stiffens. She hasn’t been actively avoiding physical contact but the warmth and pressure of Ava’s fingers against the inside of her wrist feels reassuring in a way that Zari hadn’t known she’d needed. But Ava removes her hand just as fast, the motion apparently only meant to pause Zari.

“You need to sleep Zari. You can’t go into this mission exhausted, it won’t go the way you want.” Ava straightens a little, shoulders squaring. Zari feels the shift in her demeanor, narrows her eyes, fully aware of the card she’s going to play next. It took her long enough. “As your captain, I command you to sleep.”

Zari wants to fight back, her tongue feels sharp against the backs of her teeth but Ava’s words are ringing true. As soon as John figures out what they’re up against and how to deal with it they’re going to move, no matter what state Zari’s in. John can snort demon ash or rub horny toad mucus into his gums to energize himself but Zari’s body is a temple, the only thing that will truly work for her is sleep and green tea. Her plan can only go accordingly if she’s in the right frame of mind to enact it.

“We’ll lock him in the library,” Sara says from a few steps back. She’s exasperated, tired, it’s late and the two of them would normally be in bed now. She and Sara aren’t close, Zari imagines Sara is only there because Ava needed her. They’ve been inseparable since it happened, clingy if Zari’s being honest but there’s something about their closeness that burns envious deep in Zari’s belly. “Right, Gideon?”

Immediately above them, her voice echoing down the hall, Gideon answers: “Door locks engaged, Mr. Constantine cannot escape.”

Zari locks eyes with Ava again. Ava’s gaze has hardened just enough that the sorrow has faded, the command  _ feels  _ like a command, sleep feels like a necessity now, not just a luxury. If John can’t leave she doesn’t need to guard him anyways, he’s powered by guilt now, he won’t stop working.

“Fine.”

“Really?” The facade is already cracking but it’s fine, Zari’s made up her mind. She no longer needs Ava to be a stern captain but they’re close enough now that Ava actually might hug her and Zari does  _ not _ need that as warm as that previous moment of intimacy felt.

Zari takes a step back and the space between them seems to signal to Ava that she was crossing some kind of boundary. Her gaze shifts to the ground then back up. “We’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Goodnight.” Zari says flatly.

“Goodnight,” Ava echoes, one last flash of sadness crossing her eyes as she turns back to Sara. Ava reaches to hold Sara’s hand once they’re almost out of sight and Zari’s heart clenches at the intimacy, quiet and reassuring.

If anything, Zari needs sleep to stop her from  _ wanting _ that intimacy.

But sleep is elusive.

Zari gets changed. She washes her face and brushes her teeth and takes the time to don her nightly skincare regime but once she’s in bed her body thrums. Her skin tingles appropriately in some places but uncomfortably in others. This is the first time she’s been still for more than 5 minutes in maybe the last 24 hours and her body doesn’t seem to understand what’s happening. She can feel the exhaustion creeping in. Joints and muscles slowly unclench as she wills herself to relax with breathing exercises but between the breaths her thoughts start to wander.

Keeping herself busy needling John all day was good for her. Bossing people around has always been a helpful distraction for Zari; it’s even better when people snap back and John is incapable of keeping his mouth shut. She doesn’t like to  _ fight _ , per se, but she does enjoy a good verbal sparring match and John is a horrible human being but he is good at keeping her on her toes.

But it’s quiet now. The kind of quiet that seeps into your bones and tickles at your hollow places. The kind of quiet that reaches into the dark recesses of your mind and tugs at the little loose strings you’ve neatly tucked away.

Guilt is the first string the quiet pulls.

Other Zari might be meeting Behrad now. She said that all totem bearers go where she goes when their time is up which means he could be there with her now. Is she happy to see him? The grown version of the brother she lost? Zari saw flashes of Behrad in Other Zari, if they met they would get along far better than she did with her brother.

Or is she just as devastated as Zari herself is? Her gain is also her loss, her brother is dead again and Zari was helpless to stop it.

The hollow parts of her shudder, a chill ripping through her as Zari wipes harshly at her eyes and sits upward. She isn’t going to cry, she’s cried enough to drown herself a hundred times over and more crying isn’t going to help. She’s through her door without sparing another thought to her guilt.

What’s going to help is tea. Something warm to soothe her stomach and calm her nerves, a task to keep her hands busy, a small distraction.

The door is dimly-lit as she approaches and the lights kick on with Zari’s presence but the kitchen isn’t empty. Charle’s sat at a table with her back to the door, shoulders hunched and elbows on the table. She doesn’t start as the lights come on, doesn’t move as Zari whispers a quiet “sorry” in reflex.

Zari catches a glimpse of Charlie’s face as she makes her way towards the counter, sees wetness on the curve of her jaw but her gaze is vacant. She’s cradling a full mug of tea between her hands, thumbs up on the lip. Zari wonders how long she’s been there in the dark.

The kettle already has water in it but the metal is cold to the touch, she’s been here a while then. Zari refills it and sets it to boil, pulls some sleepytime tea from the cabinet and the first mug that finds her hand. 

Charlie was quick to give John and Zari as much information as she could about the last piece of the Loom, about her sisters, about what the Loom itself is capable of when it’s together. Zari listened to every word she said, drank the information and let it seep into her, coating her guilt and anger with possibility and hope. Charlie had spent most of the day fighting with John, almost as much as Zari herself _.  _ Most of the afternoon they’d spent howling at each other about Lachesis and Atropos. John had nearly died by her hand but now that Charlie had cut it off he was convinced he had a way to stop Atropos in her tracks.

Zari had only stood by during that particular fight, perched against a desk watching John pace and wave his hands as Charlie yelled until her throat was raw. She’d only left because John had drawn himself a rune circle to trance in, convinced he could steel himself to the upcoming trouble with a little magic. Charlie had locked eyes with her as she’d left and the fear in them had set Zari’s heart thumping.

Charlie knew what they were up against better than any of them, especially John, so when John came out of his trance buzzing with newly-electrified ego Zari had been quick to put him back in his place. He wasn’t going to shoot off into the unknown and tug Zari along with him. They were going to work this out  _ together _ and she’d let him know that in no uncertain terms, one carefully manicured nail pressing deep into the sweaty skin of his chest.

For an egomaniac, John was surprisingly easy to put in his place.

The kettle whistles and Zari blinks a few times, realizing in her daze she’d been staring directly at Charlie. When she refocuses she finds Charlie’s finally moved, eyes up watching Zari with enough intensity that Zari feels a flush at her neck. She exhales, breaks eye contact.

“Do you want another cup?” Zari offers, eyes falling to her own mug as she pours water over the infuser inside.

There’s enough silence after the question that Zari thinks maybe she didn’t ask it out loud, looks up to ask again just as Charlie finally answers. “It’s cold but it’s still good.”

“Debatable,” Zari answers.

Charlie smiles but only enough to tug at the corner of her mouth, she looks bone deep exhausted. Her skin is pallid, eyes red and the bow of her shoulders is heavy. Alongside Nate it had been Charlie that was closest with Behrad. Their relationship was still somewhat of an unknown to Zari, she hadn’t pried and neither of them had offered, but she can see the closeness in Charlie’s body language. How deeply this loss has hit her.

Zari’s guilt scratches at the inside of her ribs, something sharp scraping down across the inside of the bone as a flash of Behrad’s still body finds the back of her eyelids. Pressure starts to build in her cheeks and Zari blinks rapidly, willing away the tears as she moves slowly towards the table. The seat next to Charlie is pushed out and Zari takes it carefully.

She hasn’t been alone with anyone but John since it happened and even then John’s ego takes up more space than he does so the library had felt crowded all day. Here in the stillness of the kitchen, Zari feels oddly alone even with Charlie so close to her.

“We’ll get him back,” she hears herself say. It doesn’t sound like her voice but she feels the rumble of it in her chest, feels her lips move and her tongue click against the roof of her mouth.

Charlie isn’t looking at her anymore, she’s back down to her own cold mug cradled between her hands, still unmoved. There’s a vacancy to her that calls out to the hollow parts of Zari, a kinship trying to forge in the silence between them.

Zari’s hand moves across the table of its own volition, slides over the cool skin of Charlie’s wrist. Her index finger hits the taut tendon of Charlie’s thumb, hooks beneath it and holds. She squeezes, gently, trying to see if she can mimic what Ava did earlier in that brief moment of contact. But Charlie’s skin isn’t just cool, it’s inhumanely cold and Zari wonders if a reassuring squeeze will be enough to get through to her.

Charlie doesn’t start at the contact but she does look down at Zari’s hand, to the totem on Zari’s wrist--she’s holding it for Behrad until he comes back, she wants to keep it safe until he can use it again. She exhales and Zari feels it against her skin--warm thankfully--hears a barely muttered “yeah” float between them.

Zari takes her first sip of tea but leaves her hand in place, feels the skin beneath it start to warm to her touch. Maybe she’ll keep Charlie safe until Behrad comes back too.


End file.
